Friend
by Siena Christmas
Summary: "Move, Olive," Enoch growled, demanding that she get away from the door. Olive blinked back tears and managed, "If you're going to be like that, I don't want to be your friend." What if things had gone differently?


_Summary: "Move, Olive," Enoch growled, demanding that she get away from the door. Olive blinked back tears and managed, "If you're going to be like that, I don't want to be your friend." What if things had gone differently?_

 _A/N: Here's a short one-shot for y'all. Please enjoy this little slice of Enolive._

 _Warning:_ _a bit of language, but nothing mind-boggling._

 ** _FRIEND_**

Olive stood with her arms extended stiffly, effectively blocking the entrance to Victor's room.

Darkly, Enoch glared at her. Why on earth did she think she could keep him from doing what he wanted to do? Always, she helped him and encouraged his actions. Let him be who he was. Let him do what he wanted to do. But now, why was she getting in the way?

"Move, Olive," he commanded in a quiet but firm voice, leaning in slightly so she would be sure to see the dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes, forcing all his disgust, hatred, and surliness into those two words.

The girl flinched as if she had been physically slapped.

He stared right into Olive's big blue eyes and saw them fill with tears of hurt. Still, she kept her arms held outwards, blocking Enoch from Victor's room. Her face was tilted upwards towards him, her lips set in a stubborn line even as a drop of water slipped from her eye. He stared at her still, silently demanding that she back down. Enoch was going to do what he wanted, and Olive ( _helpful, beautiful, Olive_ ) could do nothing about it...

A question leapt to his mind, then: _Why does she stay?_

Enoch knew he was annoying, unfriendly, and flat-out mean. He was negative, pessimistic, and often used piercing dark sarcasm to prove whatever point. But, while most scolded him and told him to 'be happy', Olive never did. She endured him with calm silence, well thought-out words, and soothing warmth that made Enoch subconsciously relax whenever she walked into a room.

Olive had never done anything, absolutely anything at all, to deserve the treatment he was giving her right at this very moment. Olive, kind, loving Olive...he had made her _cry_.

What had he done?

His realization must not have shown in his eyes, because in the next moment, Olive spoke, the words coming all in a rush. "If you're going to be like that, I don't want to be your friend."

Lowering her arms from the doorway, Olive quickly walked from the room, head slightly bent. Enoch watched her go as a horrible, writhing pit settled in his stomach. He felt sort of...numb, as if he was floating outside himself. His ears rang. _Olive considered herself my friend?_ he thought.

Enoch had never had friends. How could he? People who became friends oftentimes had at least one thing in common. A movie or a series they enjoyed, similar interests, disinterests...

Enoch animated dead things. He was a grump. A pessimist. Ruin and ruination.

No. Enoch didn't have friends.

And yet, what had Olive said?

"I don't want to be your friend."

Briefly, Enoch had a moment of complete elation that made the entire world seem brighter: he had a friend.

The next second, the world became dreary again, because Enoch was an ass and he had just said something undeniably nasty to the most wonderful person in the world, his only friend.

 _Good job, Enoch. You lost the friend you didn't even know you had._

The feeling in his stomach worsened, and Enoch thought that he might throw up. "I am such an idiot!" he growled to himself.

"I'm not an idiot!" said Jake indignantly, and Enoch started because he'd forgotten the obnoxious newcomer was there. Jake, the reason he'd been trying to get into Victor's room in the first place. Jake, the reason for Emma's annoying behavior and therefore, Enoch's exceptionally horrible mood.

Enoch glowered and scowled at Jake before turning his back and walking in Olive's steps.

"What about Victor?" called Jake. "Is he in there? Can I meet him?"

"Victor wants to rest in peace, not see the likes of you," Enoch tossed over his shoulder.

With that, he left Jake standing at the end of the hall and stomped down the stairs. Halfway down, he met Fiona and Bronwyn, who seemed about ready to rip someone's head off. "What have you done, Enoch?" demanded Fiona angrily.

"I've not a clue what you mean," the boy seethed back (even though, with a sinking feeling, he knew exactly what had happened).

"You made her cry, Enoch! She ran out the front door five minutes ago and hasn't come back! Now you've done it! All she does is help you and be there for you, and this is what you do in return? I can't _believe_ you! How could you treat her this way?"

For once, Enoch had no comeback. The fact that Olive had run away in tears made him feel like he should go jump off the roof. And what was more, Fiona was right: Olive helped him with his gory projects. She was always there, his constant shadow, handing him whatever tool he needed, lighting a flame in her palm when he worked late into the night, never leaving until he was finished, never complaining about being tired, or about his negativity, or anything. Olive endured every single thing about him like no one else could.

He couldn't believe himself. He couldn't believe what he'd said to her.

 _"Move,_ " he'd said, as if she had to do what he commanded. As if he was her master. As if she were one of his clay dolls, as if whatever he wanted, she must then do.

She was not lower than him. She was not made of clay. He was not the cause of her being, he didn't summon her life by means of a pig's heart.

She was Olive. She was a human being, with a mind, a will, a heart of her own. She made her own decisions, and she decided what was right or wrong for herself.

And she'd decided that he was her friend.

Enoch knew what he had to do, and he did it right away. No more sulking, no more brooding, hiding in the dark: no. Today was the day he apologized to Olive Abroholos Elephanta.

He didn't have time to laugh at the shocked expressions on Fiona's and Bronwyn's faces as he didn't even offer a retort, dashing straight out the front door instead.

Part of him hoped he find Olive straightaway, but she was nowhere to be seen. Glancing left and right, Enoch finally decided to check by the large grove of trees on the far side of the house. The nauseous feeling of guilt still twisting in his stomach, Enoch ran and hoped that Olive wouldn't immediately shoot fire at him at first sight.

It was, after a few long moments, that Enoch finally discovered Olive sitting under a towering birch tree, sobbing into her gloved hands. At first, he stood rigid. Frozen. Unsure of what to do. Should he approach her and pretend to be indifferent?

 _"Whatever, I'm sorry. Come back if you want to, doesn't matter to me."_

No. That was wrong.

Should he tap her on the shoulder? Be a gentleman?

 _"Beg pardon, but I must apologize...I was absolutely atrocious earlier. Might I kiss thy hand?"_

No. He couldn't act so dapper if he tried.

And what if she didn't accept his apology? What then? He would never stop feeling wretched...

"Enoch?"

He jumped.

Olive was staring up at him from where she sat on the ground, rubbing her eyes with gloved fists. She was pale and looked so disheartened and miserable that Enoch almost punched himself. He looked down at her, something inside him breaking. Such a kind and beautiful soul, hurting because of him...someone who'd done nothing but help and love him...

...someone who had taught him so much...

Swallowing hard, Enoch knelt in the leaves a few inches away from Olive, who was staring at him with glassy blue eyes. He bowed his head, his vision suddenly blurring.

 _Look at her!_ he commanded himself. _Look at her. Make it right, O'Connor._

He raised his eyes and met Olive's. Her face nearly took his breath away, and Enoch hoped with all his heart that he could fix what he had said.

"Olive..." he began, seeing the way her eyes shone when he said her name. "I..." He took a breath.

 _I'm sorry!_ his heart screamed. _I'm sorry, Olive, and I love you!_

"I want to be your friend," he whispered brokenly at last. He closed his eyes, cursing himself silently.

 _That's not an apology, Enoch._

Still, he forged on.

"I want to be your friend, and I've never had a friend before, so I'm sorry if...I'm sorry. I'm just...sorry. I'm sorry, Olive. I'm sorry for what I said."

He gazed into her eyes, desperately seeking out her acceptance. _Needing_ her acceptance.

 _Please, Olive. Please._

Olive searched his face, seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, the slightest smile flitted across her lips, and Enoch's heart pounded. At last, Olive let out a long breath, as if she'd been holding it in for a long time, and gently said, "I want to be your friend, too."

Enoch grinned.

It wasn't a leer, or a sneer, or a fake, or an act of sarcasm. It was a real, genuine, honest-to-God _grin_.

She had accepted his apology, and that was all well and good. He understood that that didn't make everything okay, though, and he knew she needed time. He would give her time. He would let her make up her mind.

And for the next two hours, Enoch and Olive sat under the birch tree in companionable silence, enjoying each other's company.

 ** _Fine._**


End file.
